I met her gaze, my voice low but firm. “I think you’ve had enough. At least here.”
She didn’t fight me, though there was a flash of irritation in her eyes. I didn’t care. Not tonight.
“You aren’t the boss of me, Valentine. Even though you’re pretty bossy when we?—”
“Nope.” I pressed a hand gently over her mouth, cutting her off before she could finish that sentence. “Not going to announce that to the whole bar.”
“How about I just take you home?” I suggested, hoping it would bring some kind of peace to the situation.
Frankie bit me. Hard. I yanked my hand back with a curse.
“How about nope? I have more to drink.” Her words slurred, but she was still stubborn as hell.
“You can drink all you want once I get you there,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm as I slipped an arm around herwaist. I didn’t want it to look too intimate, but damn, the feel of her so close was a dangerous temptation.
Ryder caught my eye, and I subtly gestured to my sisters. He nodded in understanding, taking the responsibility off my hands.
Frankie didn't protest as much this time, and I helped her toward my car, lifting her in with more care than I should have.
When I slid into the driver’s seat, she tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded. The usual sharpness in her expression was gone, replaced by exhaustion. “Are you a nice guy, Teddy?”
Her calling meTeddy—notValentine—squeezed something tight in my chest. I gripped the steering wheel harder, trying to keep my cool.
“Not always. But I try to be,” I answered, my voice betraying the weight of the moment.
“I don’t believe in nice guys.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “They all have ulterior motives.”
Her words dug deep, and I didn’t need to ask why she felt that way. It wasn’t just Travis who had broken her—it was life, the world itself. Frankie had been through things I couldn’t imagine, things that had hardened her in ways I’d never fully understand. But despite it all, she’d survived. And that strength? It was something that amazed me, something I couldn’t ignore.
I wasn’t sure how long I could keep fighting the pull to be near her. To want to be the one who took care of her, who showed her there was more to the world than betrayal.
Frankie’s head lolled to the side, her breathing evening out as she fell asleep. Her braid shifted, revealing the edge of a tattoo behind it. My hand reached out before I could stop myself, gently brushing the hair away from her neck. The tattoo was simple—just a phoenix—but it caught me by surprise. Strait-laced Coach, with a tattoo.
A soft chuckle escaped me. She really was full of surprises.
I parked outside her house, and when she didn’t stir, I rounded the car and carefully lifted her into my arms. As I kicked the door shut, I fumbled through her purse for the keys while trying not to drop her. Digging through a woman’s purse was a no-go in most situations, but tonight, I didn’t care. I needed those keys. The moment I felt them, I yanked my hand free, half-worried about what I might find in there.
Frankie stirred, and I set her down to walk up the steps. “I could use a little help here, Coach,” I said, my voice low.
“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her words sluggish with sleep.
I managed to get her inside but carrying her up the stairs wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I guided her to the couch, where she crawled up onto it and curled into a ball. Her eyes opened, hazy but sharp, staring at me with something like quiet concern.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“Don’t I know it?” I said, my words heavier than I meant them to be. Yet, as much as I wanted to leave, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Not now, not anymore.
I kicked off my shoes and sank down to the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against it, making myself as comfortable as I could.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was soft, drowsy, confused.
“Don’t worry about it,” I muttered. I wasn’t leaving. I’d stay, no matter what. She was drunk, and clearly, something had rattled her—her words from the bar still echoed in my mind.“He still thinks I’ll marry him.”
Was that the sameassholewho had destroyed her trust? The one who thought he could control her?
I leaned in closer, brushing strands of hair from her face, my fingers lingering longer than necessary. I wanted to tell hershe didn’t belong to anyone—not him, not any man. But instead, what came out was possessive, raw.
“You’re mine,” I growled, my voice low as I met her heavy-lidded eyes.
